


you're in my veins

by thespacenico



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura uses her powers!, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, Poisoning, broganes, set during season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22119730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespacenico/pseuds/thespacenico
Summary: “It’s lethal to most living species throughout the known universe. I’ve never tested it on a human before, but I imagine it has the same effect.”The relevance of a poison of all things is lost on Keith, and frankly, so is his patience. “Get to the point,” he growls.The Galra chuckles to himself, as if Keith’s words now are particularly funny to him. “The point,” he offers obligingly, finally raising his sword once again and observing the blade, “is that us Galra often like to lace our weapons with it, as an added asset.” His yellow eyes flick up toward Lance and he smiles wickedly. “A single cut to exposed skin is all it takes.”
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 540





	you're in my veins

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO! this is a commission i wrote for my lovely friend anna (@misquidinq) on twitter!  
> just be warned, i didn't feel it was enough to warrant me tagging this with graphic violence, but in this fic lance does get poisoned (happy ending though, don't worry) so just be aware of that if you need to avoid it!
> 
> ALSO! IMPORTANT! i know i haven't posted in a while, and i'm super extremely grateful for those of you who have stuck around. if you haven't seen, i've been super busy writing for the klancemas zine, which preorders are open for right now! AHHH! it's based on my klancemas 2018 series, if you think you'd be interested in it then be sure to check out all the klancemas socials (@klancemas on twitter, @klancemas2019 on instagram/tumblr)!
> 
> ily guys <3

The team knew when they answered a nearby moon’s distress call that they were walking right into an ambush. 

Allura said that the risk was worth it, because where there are Galra, there’s a base, and where there’s a base, there’s information on Zarkon’s whereabouts, and where’s there’s information on Zarkon’s whereabouts—you get the picture. All in all, it’s not _that_ big of a deal. They’ve been ambushed before, found themselves in plenty of situations where they weren’t confident they’d make it out on the other side. It’s been a learning experience for them all, but if anything, they’ve certainly learned to adapt. 

And besides, is it really an ambush if they knew it was coming?

Four dozen Galra sentries.

Six paladins. 

No problem.

Keith is the first to launch into battle, as per usual. Shiro would scold him for it later, but right now they’ve got more pressing matters to attend to. 

“Couldn’t you have waited until Commander Mucus or whatever over there finished his evil speech?” Lance calls, rifle already smoking from the first few shots that he’s landed.

It would be hard to hear him over the overwhelming noise of blasters firing and metal screeching if they weren’t fighting back-to-back in the center of it all, weapons blazing, Lance picking off any sentry that aims for one of their teammates while Keith fends off any sentry that dares try to come past them. Keith’s ears are already ringing with the sound of Lance’s whooping laughter every time he takes one down, heart pounding and pulse racing with the adrenaline that inevitably comes with battle.

“Muckus,” Keith calls back, impaling the nearest sentry with his sword and kicking it off, eyes sweeping the room for his next victim. “And he was taking too long.” 

“Patience yields focus, babe,” Lance teases. “Six o’clock.” He ducks and continues firing from below as Keith swings his sword in a wide arc over his head, slicing clean through the approaching sentry.

The wave of sentries is already wearing thin, the amount of metal and disarmed weapons heaped on the ground only growing with every passing second—honestly, they never stood a chance. The team will be in and out of this base with everything they need before they know it. 

“Keith! Lance!” Keith glances over his shoulder to see Shiro dismember another sentry, then proceed to shoot a gaping hole through its chest, just for good measure. He points past them toward the other side of the room. “The commander!” 

The two of them follow his gaze to see Muckus slowly retreating, inching his way along the outer wall of the room, closer and closer to the nearest exit. No doubt he thought he was about to make it out of his botched attempt at an ambush unscathed; even the paladins know that failure within Zarkon’s rank is punished harshly. Keith might feel worse for taking this guy down if Zarkon and his forces weren’t already some of the cruelest being in the known universe.

Regardless, it’s rather unsurprising and practically expected that the moment Lance lays eyes on him, the commander turns and _books_ it.

“We got him,” Lance yells by way of confirmation, firing on one more bot before taking off after Muckus, Keith following closely behind.

Muckus manages to get through the exit just before they reach him, grinning smugly and pressing his fingers against his forehead in a mock salute at the two paladins before he the door closes completely, sliding closed with a taunting air of finality. That is, if Keith were anyone but himself. This is more of an inconvenience than anything. 

“I got it,” he says, pushing ahead of Lance toward the console attached to the door’s edge. “Cover me.” Judging by the immediate sound of metal crumpling behind them as he slaps a hand over the screen, Lance didn’t need to be told twice. He smirks when the console flashes green and accepts his print, looking up as the door begins to reopen. “C’mon.” 

They dash inside without hesitation and Keith does the same on the other side, using his print to close the door once again—Pidge will be able to get the rest of the team inside once the sentries have been contained. Lance doesn’t turn around until the door has fully closed, cutting them off from the battle still taking place on the other side and plunging them into silence. Keith is faintly aware of Lance returning to his side as he surveys the area, eyes narrowed.

The commander is nowhere in sight, despite making it out only moments before they were able to follow him inside. To their left: a long hallway lined with glowing red columns that cast eerie, foreboding shadows across the walls, stretching several yards ahead before ending in another door. To their right: a room just like the last, though considerably smaller and mostly obscured by large boxes of cargo and weapons stacked against the walls and in the middle of the floor.

Keith takes one look at the hallway and eagerly steps toward it. “He’s probably heading for the escape pods. Let’s go.” 

He’s hardly taken another step before Lance snatches his hand and tugs, not enough to pull him back but enough to stop him. “Wait, Keith.” Keith glances over his shoulder, mouth open and ready with a complaint, but it tumbles back down into his throat when he sees Lance still rooted in place, frowning in the opposite direction. He still hasn’t let his guard down, grip firm on his rifle and brow furrowed in contemplation. Keith takes a moment that they probably don’t have to appreciate the slope of his nose and the sharp curve of his jaw, the hair curling around his ears. 

Anyway.

Lance’s gaze flicks back at Keith and he lowers his voice, gesturing toward the open room with a tilt of his head as Keith backtracks to stand near him. “In there.” 

Keith hesitates. There’s not a lot of room for error here—they both know that. If they choose the wrong route, then Muckus has just enough time to escape, meaning they lose their easy access to the central database here on this ship. He looks past Lance into the cargo room, chewing on his lip as he tries to make sense of it all. To him, the obvious choice would be the escape pods at the end of the hallway. Muckus _was_ trying to escape, so wouldn’t that be exactly where he’s headed? Although, it is a pretty long hallway and he’d have to be pretty fast to make it all the way down there by the time Keith had reopened the door, and all those boxes in the other room do make for some pretty good hiding spots...

After that, the decision is easy. Keith trusts his instincts, but he trusts Lance more.

He takes a quiet breath and nods, signaling for Lance to take the lead. Lance answers with a quick nod of his own, giving his hand a grateful squeeze before letting go and turning to head into the room, aiming his rifle ahead of him. 

The place is practically a maze. Keith finds himself frequently checking over his shoulder as the creep forward and weave throughout the neverending stacks of boxes, paranoid that they’ll make a wrong turn and find themselves on the receiving end of a surprise attack. Lance continues ahead, taking special care to make sure they check every crevice, every corner before proceeding, turning around corners so tightly that Keith wonders how he doesn’t fall over. 

To make things even more difficult, there’s no clear path, so it’s a challenge to watch all their blind spots—but watching each other’s backs is kind of their specialty, so they make do. They slowly but surely make their way closer and closer to the opposite side of the room until only one last haphazard stack of crates stands between them and the wall. Lance ducks down behind them and Keith follows, heart rate picking up in anticipation as they share a glance, grips tightening on their bayards.

If Muckus is really in this room, on the other side of these boxes, he’s not gonna go down without a fight. Their eyes lock, and Lance seems to search Keith’s gaze for a moment before lifting one hand, silently counting them down.

_Three, two, one—_

Wordlessly, they shoot to their feet and snap around the last corner in the blink of an eye, brandishing their weapons and converging on… nothing. A very empty corner. A Galra-less corner. An enemy-less corner. Keith stares, blinking, as if something might appear there if he were to look long and hard enough. But the longer he looks, the further his heart sinks into the pit of his stomach, hot and heavy.

They chose wrong.

If Muckus isn’t here, then he must’ve gone the other way, and if he went the other way, then he’s long gone, and there’s no one to blame but themselves.

“I…” Keith tears his gaze away from the corner to watch Lance step forward tentatively, lowering his rifle and staring blankly at where they’d hoped their enemy would be. “He’s not here.” 

Keith shakes his head slightly, already picking out the implications of his words and not liking them one bit. “It’s okay, Lance.” 

“I thought—” Lance’s breath comes out in a huff, frustrated. “I’m sorry, I really thought that maybe he—” 

“Lance,” Keith interrupts firmly, letting his bayard dematerialize in his grasp. “Stop. It’s not your fault. We’ll figure it out, okay?” He folds his arms as Lance sighs, following suit and allowing his bayard to disappear in his hand. “Maybe Pidge can get us into the system instead. She’s done it before.” 

Lance runs his fingers through his hair, still clearly frustrated with himself but not quite willing to admit it. “Yeah, I know.” He rubs the back of his neck as he turns, eyes downcast. “Just… I didn’t mean to lead us the wrong—” He lifts his head as he speaks and the second that he does, he abruptly cuts himself off with a sharp gasp, eyes widening. “Keith— _Keith,_ behind you!”

Keith turns around in time to see Muckus charging toward him, sword raised, eyes gleaming with murderous intent. And even after being praised for his quick eye and quicker reflexes, he doesn’t quite have time to stop Lance from lunging forward and knocking him out of the way. 

All that Keith hears as he stumbles to regain his balance is Lance, crying out in pain, and it’s enough to make his heart stop in his chest. 

He instinctively scrambles to activate his bayard again, using the weight of his newly formed sword to steady himself and whip back around, heart stuttering back into an erratic pace. It’s not nearly as bad as he’d feared—Lance is still upright, gritting his teeth and clutching at his arm, glaring literal daggers at the Galra in front of him. He’s managed to avoid the worst of the attack, but as Muckus raises his sword again, Keith knows this time he won’t be so lucky.

Metal scrapes against metal as Keith immediately rushes forward to put himself between Lance and Muckus, raising his sword to block the other’s downward strike. 

The commander seems to be rather pleased with the new development, exhaling a low, gravelly chuckle as they push against each other. “And here I thought I was going to have to leave all the action to the sentries.” 

Keith has never been one for casual banter between himself and the enemy, and that’s not about to change now. “Back off,” he spits, and uses all of his strength to shove forward and send the Galra reeling back a few steps. He protectively positions himself further in front of Lance, gripping the hilt of his sword with both hands. “You okay?” he asks, eyes never leaving Muckus, who’s found his balance and is now considering them through narrowed eyes.

“I’m fine,” Lance grits, wincing slightly. “Let’s just take this guy.” 

It shouldn’t be funny. If anyone should be laughing, it’s Keith and Lance, out of relief or satisfaction or—something, and yet Muckus is the only one who seems to find anything about this situation to be anywhere close to amusing. Because he laughs. An ugly, slow, full-bodied laugh that makes Keith’s blood go ice cold, scowl deepening. He hears Lance shuffling uncomfortably behind him, moving to stand at his shoulder. 

“What’s so funny?” Keith snaps, patience already wearing thin.

“Keith,” Lance warns. 

The Galra commander’s mouth curls up into a cruel grin, propping the point of his sword on the ground and leaning his weight against it. He looks far too relaxed for Keith’s comfort, and far too relaxed for someone on the receiving end of two paladins of Voltron. “Well now,” he begins, smug. “I suppose neither of you have heard of vexus?” 

Keith and Lance glance at each other. The question is obviously bait, and they’ve learned over time that they have no obligation to engage them, by any means. There’s always some kind of catch to these sort of conversations, where the enemy thinks they’re making some grand, clever reveal, or offering a single juicy, but mostly unimportant piece of information. It’s not always worth the risk, but it can depend on the situation—it could waste a lot of time, or it could save a lot of time. In this case, giving Muckus what he wants may give the rest of the team the time they need to finish off the sentries and meet them here.

They come to a silent agreement, and Keith’s gaze flicks back toward Muckus as Lance clears his throat. “Alright, I’ll bite. What about it?” 

Muckus practically beams, in the most malevolent manner possible. Keith wants to wipe that expression off his face himself, but he holds back. “It’s a fast-acting poison,” he explains, lifting a hand to examine his clawed fingers, as if he’s disinterested in everything about this current situation as a whole. “It’s lethal to most living species throughout the known universe. I’ve never tested it on a human before, but I imagine it has the same effect.” 

The relevance of a poison of all things is lost on Keith, and frankly, so is his patience. “Get to the point,” he growls. 

The Galra chuckles to himself, as if Keith’s words now are particularly funny to him. “The point,” he offers obligingly, finally raising his sword once again and observing the blade, “is that us Galra often like to lace our weapons with it, as an added asset.” His yellow eyes flick up toward Lance and he smiles wickedly. “A single cut to exposed skin is all it takes.” 

It takes Keith’s brain a moment to process the implications of the commander’s statement. Blades laced with a lethal poison, effective even through only a small cut—his breath sticks in his throat, when he realizes. He shouldn’t take the chance, but he drops his guard to look back at Lance, who’s already pulled his hand away from the bloody gash in the side of his arm to inspect it closely. Even from here, Keith can see where the edges of the cut have darkened in color, veins prominent where they shouldn’t be, black and spiderwebbing out in all directions until disappearing underneath the tattered part of Lance’s undersuit.

Lance looks up to meet his gaze, eyes wide, face pale and terrified. Keith flounders for a moment, speechless, heart climbing into his throat with panic before he swallows it down and turns back on Muckus with another scowl. “He—you’re lying.” 

Muckus lifts an eyebrow. “And you’re willing to take that chance?” 

“Keith,” Lance tries, voice cracking. “I don’t think he’s lying.” 

Keith glances back again, the horror of the reality of the situation settling deeper and deeper into his bones with every passing second despite how hard he’s trying to reason against it. Lance’s face has grown even paler, like all the blood is draining from it as beads of sweat form around his crown.

“There isn’t much time to negotiate,” Muckus hums, twirling his blade. “The effects already appear to be taking their toll.” 

“Then _fix_ it,” Keith blurts, head snapped toward him and gaze hardening in an effort not to let his terror show. “You—there has to be some kind of antidote, or—” He steps forward, and it’s more out of his own increasing hysteria than any intention to act threateningly, but Muckus draws back a step in turn, eyes flashing warily. “Tell me what the antidote is, _now.”_

Muckus sneers. “And why would I tell _you_ that, paladin?” 

It takes everything Keith has not to lunge forward take this guy out himself, the edges of his vision blurring with panic disguised with utter rage. Lance’s voice brings him back to the present, keeps him grounded even though it sounds unnaturally breathless, as if he can’t quite catch his breath. “Keith, don’t.” 

Keith can feel his guard slipping, defenses falling as he looks back again, terrified. “Lance—” 

Lance isn’t listening, because he’s activating his bayard and lifting his rifle to fire. Keith hears two things after that: one, the sound of Muckus howling in pain, and two, the sound of his sword clattering heavily to the ground. He spins back around, dizzy from the abrupt change of orientation and starting at his sudden proximity to the Galra, who clutches at his shoulder with a hiss. Distantly, he hears the excited shouts of the rest of the team close by, most likely finished with the sentries and working to get the door open to reach them.

“This is your last chance,” Lance grits out. “Get out, or the next time I won’t be so casual with my aim.” 

He’s totally bluffing—Lance is _never_ casual with his aim, but Muckus doesn’t have to know that.

The Galra looks between the two of them as all traces of his earlier smug demeanor vanish, replaced by something not quite fearful, but certainly uneasy. Lance stares him down relentlessly, unwilling to back down until Muckus finally draws back with a sneer, turns, and quickly retreats into the hallway in the direction of the escape pods.

Keith can’t quite bring himself to speak, stiff and frozen as he turns back around to face Lance, breath catching in his throat at the sight of him. He’s hardly moved, but Lance’s chest is heaving with exertion, face practically white and damp with sweat. A flash of blue and his bayard returns to its original form in his trembling hand, and he drops it to the ground. 

Pidge must have gotten the door open, because Keith hears the team’s footsteps echoing behind them as they rush inside. He steps forward cautiously, one hand outstretched. “Lance?” 

Lance inhales a ragged breath, grimacing, and manages a single step toward Keith before promptly keeling over into his arms.

Hysteria slams into Keith like a freight train, brutally knocking the air out of his lungs as he drops his own bayard and stumbles under Lance’s weight, struggling to keep them upright. “No, nonononono—Lance?” He sinks to his knees in an effort to hold Lance up, cradling him against his chest. “Lance, tell me what’s wrong, tell me—” 

“Keith? Lance?” Hunk’s voice rings through the air and Keith’s head snaps up, realizing that they’re hidden behind the endless stacks of boxes. 

“In here!” he calls, unashamed for once by the frantic tone of his own voice, hoping desperately that they’ll hear it and understand. “We’re in here!” 

Lance coughs weakly, drawing Keith’s immediate attention. “Keith,” he murmurs, sounding as if the breath was punched out of him. 

“Hey,” Keith breathes, trying his best to remain level, hand shaking as he rests it against Lance’s cheek and swipes a thumb over his cheekbone. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.” 

The sounds of stuttering footsteps and strangled gasps of horror announce the rest of the team’s arrival, and the others are upon them in an instant. Allura is the first to get there, dropping to her knees at Keith’s side and one hand flying to her mouth when her eyes fall on Lance. “Keith, what’s happened?” 

“I—the commander,” Keith stammers, searching helplessly for words. “And his sword—he took us by surprise and Lance, he pushed me out of the way—” Maybe the entire experience has left him jumpy, because movement out of the corner of his eye immediately attracts his gaze, hairs rising on the back of his neck. “Don’t touch it!” he shrieks. 

Pidge snatches her hand away from where it had been hovering over the poisoned sword’s hilt, eyes wide. “Keith,” Shiro says, and Keith wants to hate him for the calmness of his voice, for the clear composure in the way he grips his shoulder as if everything is fine when it’s _not_ , but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t serve to steady him as well, bring him back down from the brink of absolute panic. “Tell us what happened so we can help.” 

Keith draws in a shuddering breath, tearing his gaze away from Pidge to look up at Shiro on his other side. “Muckus,” he gets out, trying his best to make sense of the past few minutes despite the rest of his frenzied thoughts. “He caught us from behind, and Lance pushed me out of the way but Muckus got him, he said—his sword, it’s laced with poison, with vex—vexer—” He has to cut himself off, grappling desperately for the right name, frustrated to the verge of tears. “I can’t remember—” 

“Vexus,” Allura breathes, and Keith’s head snaps toward her. 

_“That._ You know what it is? How do we—” 

“Whoawhoawhoa,” Hunk interrupts worriedly, sounding like he’s very much on the edge of panic himself. _“Poison?_ Lance was poisoned?” 

Suddenly Lance gasps weakly, immediately seizing everyone’s attention as he scrabbles for something to hold and finds Keith’s hand there waiting for him. His face is twisted into a grimace, eyes glazed over with pain and breaths shallow. “I can’t—can’t breathe—”

Keith’s tears spill over without permission and he chokes back a sob, brushing away the hair that’s stuck to his forehead. “I know, baby, I know, we—we’re gonna figure something out, okay?” 

“This says it’s lethal,” Pidge mutters, scrolling hurriedly through the screen she’s projecting from her gauntlet, eyes flicking across it faster than Keith can keep up with. “The effects can last up to seven minutes—I’m trying to find an antidote, but—”

“Don’t bother,” Allura interrupts, the line of her mouth uncharacteristically solemn as she looks down at the gash in Lance’s arm. “There isn’t one.” 

Keith’s heart drops into his stomach like a dead weight, so quickly that he feels bile rising up his throat in response. His gaze falls back toward Lance, and even through the tears blurring his vision he can see Lance staring back up at him. Only this time he doesn’t look quite so afraid, expression almost resigned, and Keith _hates_ it.

The single, _only_ reason he doesn’t succumb to his panic completely is because Shiro doesn’t let him ruminate on it for very long, although it takes him several tries to get his attention. “Keith, how long has it been?” 

Keith’s chest heaves slightly, almost dizzy from trying so hard to keep his composure. “I-I don’t know, it—five minutes?” 

“Then it’s already reached his heart,” Allura murmurs, reaching out to place a delicate hand against Lance’s chest, brow furrowed. 

“Then we have to _do_ something!” Keith blurts desperately. He’s far past the edge of hysterics now, hardly able to finish a complete sentence between sobs, face sticky with hot tears. “We can’t just sit here, somebody do something, please—” 

“Lay him down,” Allura orders, with so much authority that Keith doesn’t dare defy her, complying without question and gently lowering Lance to the ground. 

Lance groans, fingers still wrapped tightly around Keith’s as Allura shifts onto her knees at his side and works on stripping away his chestplate. His eyes flutter slowly, head turning to look up at Keith, smiling feebly. “Keith. S’gonna be okay.” 

Keith whimpers, trying hard to smile back even as several more tears slip down his face, dripping onto Lance’s cheek. “Yeah,” he whispers, voice wobbling. “Yeah, it’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

He’s almost startled by the sound of Lance’s chestplate hitting the floor when Allura tosses it aside. She leans over Lance and lays one hand over his heart, the other just beside it on the side closest to his injured arm. “Keith,” she says, quietly but firmly, and he _wishes_ everyone would stop saying his name like that but he knows they’d never be able to get his attention otherwise. “I need you to move back.” 

There’s no time to argue—Keith knows that. He swallows, squeezing Lance’s hand before letting it slip away and shuffling back on his knees to give Allura the space that she needs. Shiro is at his side immediately, one hand resting against the small of his back. It’s familiar enough to provide Keith with even the smallest amount of comfort, and although it’s not nearly enough to oppose the unrelenting dread that’s made its home in his stomach, it’s no less appreciated.

Everyone watches silently as Allura closes her eyes, jaw set with a determination that he’s never seen before. Keith’s muscles ache with unresolved tension, shoulders trembling with the effort it takes to keep himself quiet as Allura takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly, her entire body visibly loosening. 

And then, the marks underneath her eyes begin to glow. 

“Oh my god,” Hunk whispers.

It’s been established many times before just how powerful that Allura is—if not demonstrated, then at least implied—but she never seems to run out of surprises, never misses out on an opportunity to prove to everyone just how capable she is of handling any situation that’s thrown her way. It’s why the team hasn’t lost their collective mind since travelling out into deep space to fight in an intergalactic war, because they’ve always had Allura’s guidance to depend on. That, and without her they would have no clue what they were supposed to be doing.

No one knows exactly what they’re supposed to be expecting. Keith inhales sharply when he sees a faint light trickling out from underneath Allura’s fingers where her hands are pressed against Lance’s chest as she continues to do—whatever it is that she’s doing. Lance’s eyes have fallen closed, body still, and it sends a bolt of electrified panic shooting through Keith’s lungs but Allura doesn’t seem to be all that concerned about it. 

The crease in her brow grows deeper with each passing moment, jaw clenched, small beads of sweat forming at her temples, all of her focus channeled directly on Lance. Her eyes squeeze tightly shut, and then she slowly, painstakingly lifts her hands away from Lance’s chest, as if she’s trying to draw something out of it. For example: the dark, thick liquid seeping out of the fabric of Lance’s suit, following Allura’s movement. Shiro’s hand stiffens on Keith’s back, mouth probably falling open much like Keith’s has as Allura gathers it all into the space between her palms.

It’s a fairly small amount of poison. Keith can’t imagine that very much actually came into contact with Lance’s skin in the first place, considering the source of his injury, but the sight of it still makes his skin crawl. Even reduced to an isolated glop of liquid it looks deadly, especially after they’ve seen what it can do. He continues to watch, entranced, as Allura seems to strain against it as if she’s pushing against whatever invisible barrier is keeping the poison afloat. It begins to glow, brightly enough that Keith has to lift a hand to shield his gaze, squinting against an even brighter flash that leaves white spots dancing behind his eyes.

Allura collapses onto her side and Hunk immediately rushes to catch her, helping her sit back upright. “I’m fine,” she grunts, leaning heavily against Hunk’s arm. “Is Lance…?” 

Keith is already scrambling back to Lance’s side, heart racing as he leans over him and tentatively rests a hand against his cheek. “Lance? Lance, sweetheart, wake up.” He can hear Allura panting harshly across from him, trying to catch her break after exerting so much energy. Lance remains still, and Keith desperately scans his face for any sign of recognition, any sign that he’s heard him at all.

Nothing. Not even a flutter of his eyelids to signal that he’s still alive. 

“No,” Keith breathes, choking on his own quickly mounting panic. It’s like it had never been gone at all, simply gone stagnant after latching onto the hope that whatever Allura was doing would save him for good. “Lance, c’mon baby, wake up—” 

“He’s not breathing,” Pidge interrupts. Her voice is remarkably calm, but the slight waver in her tone and the tears glistening in her eyes give her away. “The poison must’ve stopped his heart before Allura could remove it.” 

Keith swears he feels his own heart stop at that. Ironic. And the implications of that terrify him enough that when Shiro reaches out to try to pull him away, he loses it. 

“No!” he shrieks, ripping his arm from Shiro’s grasp and flinging his arm over Lance’s chest, gripping at his lifeless hand. “No, please—” 

“Keith,” Shiro tries again, resting a hand on Keith’s shoulder only for it to be shrugged away. 

Keith shakes his head vigorously, heat building behind his eyes and then spilling out through his tears, breathing shaken and voice broken. “I’m not leaving him, Shiro, please don’t make me leave him—”

“I’m not making you leave him, Keith—” 

“Shiro, _please—”_

“Keith!”

Keith gasps as he’s torn away from Lance’s body, pinned down by the weight of both Shiro’s hands on his shoulders, freezing at the look on Shiro’s face when he looks up at him. “Keith, unless you learned how to do CPR while I was gone, I need you to get out of the way, _now.”_

It’s enough to snap Keith back into reality and realize just what Shiro is trying to do. 

He immediately clambers aside to make room for Shiro, who wastes absolutely no time in positioning his hands over Lance’s chest and beginning compressions, expression grave as he mutters under his breath to keep count. Keith can hardly bring himself to watch, pressing his hands against his mouth to muffle his own sobs. Shiro tilts Lance’s chin back and breathes into his mouth, twice, then returns to his chest to repeat the cycle. 

“Please,” Keith whispers as Shiro is breathing into Lance’s mouth again, only faintly aware of Pidge’s hand settling on his knee to remind him that he’s not alone here, as much as it feels that way. “C’mon, Lance, not now. Not now, please—” 

Lance coughs halfway through the third cycle of compressions, and it’s the most beautiful sound that Keith has ever heard.

Shiro pulls away from his chest as he coughs again, sputtering, and then again until he’s coughing rather violently and Shiro has to lift him up by his shoulders so he can sit upright. Keith’s hands instantly dart out to steady him, eyes wide and breath stuck in the back of his throat as Lance hacks into his fist, clutching at Keith’s arm with the other as everyone else swoops down on them.

“Lance!” 

“Oh my god, you’re okay—” 

“Thank god, Lance, never do that again—” 

Lance waves them away—or at least, he tries to anyway, although he’s still too busy coughing into his fist to do much else, inhaling lungfuls of air between each fit. Keith can’t stop staring, desperately blinking back the tears in his eyes, heart pounding in his chest so hard and so fast he’s certain it’ll bruise his ribcage.

“Gross,” Lance chokes, voice rough and scratchy as he tries to catch his breath. “I feel like I just caught the flu, experienced all the symptoms and then got rid of it all in the span of like, half an hour—”

Keith can’t help it. Relief floods over him like an unrelenting tidal wave, and before he can stop himself he’s grabbing Lance’s face between his hands and surging forward to kiss him, completely unabashed, refusing to let the thought of the entire team watching them steal this moment from him. Lance makes a noise of surprise in the back of his throat, clinging to both of Keith’s arms now for support. The hardest part is pulling back, but Keith has enough sense left to remind himself not to get too carried away.

He breaks apart and leans back, panting slightly and eyes searching Lance’s face intently as Lance blinks back at him, dazed. “Whoa,” he breathes, and Keith frowns. “Am I dreaming? Are you an angel?” 

A breathless laugh of relief escapes from Keith’s lips, fresh tears spilling over and dripping onto his cheeks as he tilts forward to press their foreheads together. “Oh my god, you’re alive.” 

“Are you sure? I don’t know, I feel like maybe you should kiss me again, just to make sure.” 

Keith laughs again, all of the previous, pent-up tension melting from his shoulders as he shakes his head. And as much as he _would_ like to kiss Lance again, instead he winds his arms around Lance’s shoulder and pulls him forward against his chest, heart threatening to burst when Lance wraps his uninjured arm around his waist without hesitation.

Lance’s breathing is still a bit ragged, but the sound of it against the shell of Keith’s ear is more beautiful than he ever dreamed it would be. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a moment just to _feel,_ hyper-aware of every single point of contact, the warm press of Lance’s fingers at his hip, the soft puffs of breath against his cheek. Keith’s shoulders tremble and he buries his face against Lance’s neck, fighting back the heat still building behind his eyes. Lance slides his hand up between Keith’s shoulder blades and nuzzles his nose against his temple. “I’m okay,” he says softly.

Keith shakes his head again, arms tightening around Lance’s neck. He can’t bring himself to say anything else, doesn’t really know what he’s trying to say exactly, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Lance understands anyway, soothingly rubbing his hand up and down the length of Keith’s back, making no indication of pulling away until Keith is ready. 

He kind of hates it—Lance is sitting here comforting Keith, when it should clearly be the other way round—but the relief is still too fresh and raw, so he shoves that feeling aside and focuses solely on Lance: here, and safe, and alive. 

It’s Allura’s voice that breaks the silence, voice gentle but leaving no room for disagreement. “I hate to cut this short,” she murmurs, placing a delicate hand on Lance’s shoulder as Keith reluctantly pulls back, wiping at his face. “But we need to get you back to the Castle, Lance, just as an extra precaution. I can’t guarantee that what I did was able to counteract all of the poison’s effects.”

Lance nods in acknowledgment, gaze flicking back toward Keith and hand slipping down to touch his elbow, a quiet reassurance that they’ll have more time later. Keith swallows and offers a small nod of his own before climbing to his feet, crouching so that Lance can wrap an arm around his shoulders and climb to their feet. 

As the team walks out of the base together, Lance’s arm around Keith’s shoulders and Keith’s around Lance’s waist, leaning heavily against each other while the others crowd around them for support, Keith can’t help but contemplate how lucky they are to have each other. No one has said a thing about the escaped commander, or the untouched control center full of information about the Galra troops—all of that can wait. Because no matter what, they put each other first, even over the war, and that’s what makes them different, Keith thinks. 

They have each other’s backs, and that’s something that no one will ever be able to take from them.

**Author's Note:**

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